"You okay?"I ask during a break for cookie refueling.
"Fine.”His strong jaw ticks.“Great.Wonderful."He adjusts his glasses three times in rapid succession.
"You just used three synonyms for the same emotion.You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You reorganized my mom's spice rack while she was making dinner."
"It was chaotic.Paprika next to cinnamon?Madness."
"Luke."
"I may be slightly nervous."
"About what?"
"Just...Christmas things.Normal Christmas nervousness.Nothing specific.Very general nervousness."
"You're babbling."
"I don't babble.I articulate with excessive precision."
"Lukas Ambrose Sterling…”
"Final round!"Mom announces."Sudden death Christmas carol charades.Winners get the last piece of pie and eternal bragging rights."
"We should focus on the game," Luke says quickly."Pie is at stake."
"I don't even like pie."
"Blasphemy.Your mother's apple pie is transcendent."
"Since when do you use words like transcendent about food?"
"Since your mother started feeding me.I've gained five pounds in two weeks."
"Where?"I eye him skeptically."You look exactly the same."
"It's all in my heart.Emotional weight.From feelings."
"Are you having a stroke?Should I call someone?"
"Game time!"Claire shouts."Luke, you're up.Christmas carol.Go!"
He takes the slip of paper, reads it, and his face does something complicated.
"Sixty seconds," Harper warns."Starting...now!"
Luke looks at me, then at the paper, then back at me.His nervousness from earlier intensifies, and suddenly I wonder if this is about more than the game.
He starts by getting down on one knee.
"Kneeling!"I shout."Prayer!Silent Night?"
He shakes his head, stays on one knee, and mimes putting something on his finger.
"Ring!"My voice cracks."Wedding ring?Wedding...oh my god."
